


A Change of Plans

by LateOctober



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Childbirth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateOctober/pseuds/LateOctober
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a private encounter with a mysterious stranger on Coruscant, Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka is horrified to find himself 'in the family way.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers. Thanks for clicking on my story! This is my first Star Wars mpreg, so I'm still kind of feeling my way around the fandom. Also, this one gets a little sappy at the end, so consider yourself warned. I rated it 'M' just to be on the safe side, but there isn't much mature content other than some sex, a few curse words, and some semi-graphic childbirth related scenes. If you like it, please leave kudos! Thanks :)  
> 

Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka sat slumped on a stool in a lousy bar on Coruscant. He slowly nursed a shot of Mandalorian whisky, enjoying the sharp burn of each sip. He was physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted. He looked around him, frowned and shook his head. Months ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in a hole like this. He didn’t drink much, and he certainly didn’t frequent sketchy bars. But times had changed. Just a year ago, everything was going so well. As a high-ranking officer onboard the First Order’s flagship, his career was blooming. The Order’s fearsome new Starkiller base was nearly operational, and he was beginning to feel like a success. Now? Their state-of-the-art base had been destroyed by a handful of rebel scum, nearly half of their senior officers and staff stationed there had been killed, and the First Order was essentially bankrupt. They had sunk all of their wealth into his project, this massive, fearsome doomsday weapon that was supposedly indestructible.

He threw down the rest of the shot. How quickly everything had fallen apart! It had all started when Kylo Ren went to Jakku to look for Lor San Tekka’s map segment. Mitaka had been placed in charge of recovering that infernal BB8 unit, which despite their very best efforts, had eluded capture. All of the sudden, a Stormtrooper had defected, stealing a Tie Fighter and helping a valuable prisoner escape; the girl Jedi had appeared; Han Solo and his pet Wookiee nearly destroyed the base’s oscillator; and then the Rebels appeared to destroy their supposedly impregnable base. He shook his head slowly. Jedi were nothing but trouble. He would love to rid the galaxy of them, not just from devotion to Leader Snoke and the First Order, but to simply preserve the peace. When Jedi showed up, there was always, always trouble. Death and disorder swirled around the Jedi like a miasma, and it made the young Lieutenant sick.

He was about to order a second shot when the Ithorian bartender suddenly served him one anyway. The hammerhead nodded towards the rear of the bar—“Compliments of the gentleman in the back.” Mitaka turned and saw a tall, pale man with soft brown hair. He quickly approached the stranger. Shy by nature, the Lieutenant could nevertheless be assertive when necessary. He wasn’t about to tolerate strange men in bars buying him drinks.

“What do you want?” he said, approaching the stranger.

The man leaned forward into the light. Mitaka drew a sharp intake of breath. This person was … beautiful. He had clear, pale skin and sparkling blue eyes. His light-brown hair was soft and wavy. He had a very trim waist with broad shoulders and strong arms. He was dressed in modest, brown-colored linens and wore a simple but fashionable nerf leather jacket. But there was something else appealing about him, something that the young officer could clearly sense but didn’t understand.

“Can’t a private citizen thank an officer of the First Order with a drink?’

Mitaka felt confused. He was on leave and dressed in casual attire. “How did you know I was an officer?”

The man leaned back and laughed softly, a charming, musical sound. “No one else can possibly maintain such a painfully stiff posture, at least not on these bar stools.” He patted the empty seat next to him and smiled. “I’m Amo. Why don’t you join me? You look like someone who could use a distraction.”

Mitaka knew he should leave immediately. All of his past training and experiences were screaming at him to exit the scene. A beautiful stranger appears out of nowhere, fawns on him and buys him drinks, and just happens to figure out that he’s a First Order officer? If he were thinking more clearly, he might suspect this person of being a rebel spy or a bounty hunter. But there was that strange, disarming attitude about this man that fought against his practical side. And he was so tired, so defeated, and so lonely. The First Order tended to discourage relationships in all but the highest ranks, and the sheer amount of stressful workload required of them made romantic entanglements all but impossible. It had been so long since the young lieutenant had been with anyone else. And so against his better judgement, Mitaka found himself retrieving his drink and joining this irresistible stranger in the quiet booth.

The next morning, Mitaka woke late in one of the rented rooms upstairs. He felt deliciously sleepy and extremely content, more relaxed than he’d been in a very long time. Last night, one thing had quickly led to another, and before he knew it, the young officer was having the most mind-blowing sex of his life with a stranger he’d just met in a bar on Coruscant. He reached over to embrace his lover, only to find his side of the bed empty. Mitaka frowned, suddenly becoming more alert. He noticed a small note left on the nightstand. “Dearest Dopheld,” the note read. “Thanks for last night. Hope to run into you again sometime.” Mitaka crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. What did he expect? He quickly dressed and checked out of the room, only to find that his friend had paid the fees. He returned to his hotel and took a long shower. With each passing moment, he became more and more alarmed. The blissful confidence he felt last night had long since evaporated. What had he done? How could he have been so foolish? After showering, he carefully checked his clothing and personal possessions for tracking devices, but found none. Maybe he was just being paranoid. He and his companion hadn’t talked much—Amo hadn’t asked him about his role in the military, or where their bases were, or anything approaching sensitive information. Maybe he really was just interested in a one night stand.

Still, Mitaka knew he would have to careful in the future. He was a lieutenant, not some nameless technician or petty officer. He had a reputation to uphold. Everyone felt discouraged, but that was no excuse for this sort of low behavior.

He decided to put the entire matter behind him. Within a few days, he returned to work, and as far as he was concerned, his little indiscretion had never happened.

\----------

Six weeks later

Lieutenant Mitaka was afraid that he was coming down with something. For the past week, a crushing fatigue consumed him and he’d completely lost his appetite. He felt dizzy and slightly nauseous—overwork perhaps? Or could there be something going around? As far as he knew, no one else was ill. The air everyone breathed on the Finalizer was heavily filtered, the water they drank was purified, and no food or medicine items came on board without being tested. The Stormtroopers’ helmets generally protected them from disease, and everyone was routinely examined in the medical bay to identify and stem any outbreak. It was actually very difficult to get sick on board the ship.

Still, no one was infallible—perhaps he should make an appointment with a doctor in the sickbay, just to be certain. He checked the chronometer and left his private quarters for the bridge. He’d have to hurry to make it on time. He was halfway through the corridors when a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness overtook him. He halted and leaned against the wall, eyes tightly shut. _You’re fine, you’re all right,_ he told himself. _Everything’s OK, just take a few deep breaths._ He simply couldn’t get sick right now, not here.

“Sir?” said a voice to his right. Mitaka opened his eyes to see a very concerned junior officer standing beside him. “Are you all right, sir? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m … fine, thank you. I’m just a bit tired.” He straightened himself up to prove his point, only to fall backwards against the wall.

“Sir, I think perhaps we should get you to sickbay.”

Mitaka was annoyed. Didn’t he just say that he was fine? Who did this officer think he was, anyway?

“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. He straightened himself up and started walking towards the bridge. “I just need a cup of caf, that’s all….” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Caf. Memories of the rich, bitter aroma overwhelmed his senses, and for some very strange reason, he suddenly realized that he was going to be sick.

Luckily he was near a refresher. He tore himself loose from the officer’s arms and rushed into the room, barely making it to the sink before violently emptying the contents of his stomach.

Perhaps a visit to sickbay was in order after all.

\----------

Mitaka was beginning to feel just a little worried and very annoyed.

He’d been in the Finalizer’s sickbay for over four hours. A series of nurses and technicians had come and gone, running tests and taking samples. He’d been poked and prodded more times than he could remember, and he still didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d been ringing for a nurse for twenty minutes and no one was coming. He looked up and noticed a medic quickly passing his bed. “Excuse me,” the lieutenant barked, in a commanding tone. The unfortunate medic stopped and cautiously approached the bed.

“Yes, lieutenant?”

Mitaka stiffened in the narrow hospital bed, trying to look as dignified as one could hooked up to an IV and wearing a baby blue hospital gown. “I’d like an update,” he requested, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve been here for hours. This is ridiculous. I have work to do, and I can’t spend the entire day in the sickbay. Can’t you send my doctor in, or at least someone who can tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes, sir! I’ll … I’ll see what I can do.”

Mitaka leaned back against the starched pillowcase. He felt uneasy. He was still weak and dizzy from the morning’s vomiting spell, he was worried about missing a shift, and he was beginning to grow concerned about his health. He noticed the hushed whispers and surreptitious glances. There was something wrong with him, and for some reason the medical staff either couldn’t or wouldn’t share what they knew.

Ten minutes later, the chief medic on duty approached his bed. He looked uncomfortable. He deposited a file of flimsies on the bed.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Lieutenant,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I can show you the ultrasound scans we made of your abdomen, I can show you the results of your bloodwork, but I can’t exactly explain how any of this is possible.”

Mitaka picked up the file and removed the first page. It was an ultrasound scan. “I can’t make sense of this,” he stated. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

The medic pointed to one dense area, a dark mass deep in his belly, adjacent to the large intestine. “This,” he said. “Can you make out what it is?”

Mitaka’s heart dropped into his stomach. “It’s a tumor, isn’t it?”

The medic shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s an embryo. It’s probably not human, but it’s definitely humanoid. At least four weeks, maybe as much as six weeks old from the look of it. Your bloodwork confirms it. I’m sorry, Lieutenant—we’re doing everything we can do figure out how to safely remove this growth, but it looks, for all the world, like you’re pregnant.”

Mitaka was not an idiot, but he was also accustomed to strange phenomena. He sat for several moments, staring at the medic, trying to decide if this was some terrible joke. But the medic’s face was solemn and perhaps a little disturbed. Mitaka rifled through the paperwork, as if he could make sense of it. “I … I don’t understand,” he finally stammered. “So … I’m infected with a parasite? Is that it?”

The medic grimaced and slightly shook his head. “Well, I suppose in a matter of speaking, yes. But whatever it is, it’s a baby. There’s a brain and a spinal cord, and a tiny beating heart. We’ll have to do more tests, and I’d like to share notes with some colleagues. For now, I think perhaps you should get some rest. I can prescribe some vitamins for you, and an anti-emetic. I think that part of your sickness came from being fatigued and malnourished. Whatever this is, it’s drawing on your resources, and you’ll have to deal with that.”  


Mitaka leaned back against the pillow. He was … pregnant? This couldn’t be right. There had to be some mistake. The doctors were wrong. It was a tumor, or a cyst, or some equipment malfunction. He closed his eyes. He suddenly felt sick again, and he didn’t think this new feeling was necessarily physical in origin.

\----------

He returned to work the next day feeling awkward and bashful, as if everyone else on the bridge was privy to the conversation he had with the sickbay’s head medic. He didn’t know if anyone had heard about his embarrassing illness the day before—if they had, they either didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Overall, the day was uneventful. He’d dutifully swallowed his newly-prescribed pills that morning, and other than some soreness from retching, he felt fine.

When he returned to his quarters at the end of the day, there was a message waiting for him from the sickbay—he was to report there as soon as possible. _Good,_ he thought. _Maybe the doctors had figured out a way to get rid of the thing growing inside of him._

When he arrived, he was led into a private room. One of the staff doctors—a reproductive consultant, actually—was waiting for him.

“Have a seat,” he said, briskly. “I’m Dr. Tomin. I’ve been assigned to your case, and I have quite a bit of information to share with you. Before we get started, I have some questions that I need you to answer honestly. You recently had shore leave about six weeks ago, is that correct?”

Mitaka nodded. “Yes, but it was only a few days on Coruscant.”

“And while you were there, did you have unprotected sex with any nonhumans?”

Mitaka nearly snorted. He would never lower himself that level. “No, certainly not.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Did you have sex with anyone at all?”

Mitaka suddenly felt cold, remembering his tryst from the trash bar he spent the night in. “Well, yes … but it was with a human male. Someone that I’d just met, um … at a bar.” The doctor raised his eyebrows.

“So you’re telling me that a commissioned officer of the First Order was foolish and irresponsible enough to have sex with a complete stranger at a crossroads planet like Corsucant and use absolutely no kind of protection?”

Mitaka began to squirm. “Well, I was really drunk … I ... the man … he was just so attractive, and I can’t explain it, but I felt … drawn to him somehow.” He blushed furiously. “I had myself tested for all the standard STDs afterwards. Look, Starkiller had just been destroyed and I was under a lot of stress! I wasn’t thinking straight.”

The doctor frowned. “Yes, I understand, but there are consequences to your actions here.” He pulled a flimsy from a file and slid it across the table to Mitaka. “Was this the person you spent the night with?”

Mitaka peered at the photograph in shock. It was him—the beautiful stranger. How and why did this First Order doctor have a picture of a random stranger he fucked one night six weeks ago?

“It’s him,” he gasped. “It’s Amo.”

“Amo, huh?” replied the doctor. “That’s a new one. He uses a different name every time. We’ve seen a few cases recently among the Coruscanti populace, but I think you’re the first officer he’s nabbed. This person is a serial rapist. He comes from a planet located just beyond the Outer Rim called Xoverea Prime. That species is nearly indistinguishable from human males. They reproduce parasitically, inseminating the males of other species—generally humans and near-humans. Apparently it’s just the men they go after—something about the womb having to grow along with the embryo or else the host miscarries. I wasn’t surprised when you mentioned that you felt drawn to him—this race emits powerful pheromones that influence behavior, and this helps them seduce their victims. What happens is they come inside a man, and the semen bores through the colon to latch on the outside of the intestinal wall. Then, the cluster of cells begins to grow a womb to house itself in. A month or two later, the birth canal and opening form, just in between the genitals and the anal area. The gestational period is about ten months. The process doesn’t usually harm the host, but it’s not pleasant. And you, my friend, appear to have been on the receiving end of one of these little stunts.”

All the color had drained from Mitaka’s face. He couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? He quickly became angry. All his life, he had always been so careful about everything. He considered himself overly cautious at times, fearing the repercussions for unwise actions more than the lost opportunities that they could have afforded. The one time, out of hundreds, that he relaxed and took a chance, he ends up pregnant with an alien creature.

“Well, you can remove it right?”

The doctor just slowly shook his head. “Unfortunately, we can’t. Not unless you’d like to die from internal hemorrhaging. We haven’t figured out how to safely remove one of these things yet without killing the host.” He picked up a datapad and scrolled down. “It looks like you have quite a bit of leave saved up. That’s good. You’ll need it when it’s time for the baby to be born.”

Mitaka gasped. “Wait a minute … I can’t … are you telling me that I’m going to carry this thing to term and give birth?!” The doctor nodded. “But … I can’t! I don’t want to. I don’t _want_ this.”

The doctor sighed. “Well, too bad. The galaxy’s not always fair. While we’re on the subject of things that are not fair, you can expect the morning sickness to continue for at least another month or two, and be prepared for some pretty severe mood swings. The hormones that the embryo secretes are powerful. You’ll probably have a lot of dizziness and fatigue, especially at first. You are growing new body parts, after all, and that is going to take a lot out of you. Oh, and be prepared for some pretty intense abdominal cramping and backaches. As you get closer to delivery, your hips will start to expand, too—that is going to hurt.”

Mitaka sat slumped in his chair, staring blankly ahead. He couldn’t believe it. He simply couldn’t believe it. This was a nightmare. What was going to happen to him? Was he going to be written up? Demoted? Dishonorably discharged? First Order officers weren’t allowed to just get pregnant without permission from a commanding officer and the medical department. Another horrible thought entered his mind. Hux was going to find out … what was he going to do when he learned that one of his lieutenants had allowed himself to become impregnanted?

“Oh God,” he whimpered. “I can’t … I feel …” His skin suddenly turned clammy and he felt his mouth fill up with hot saliva. Luckily, the doctor was one step ahead of him and grabbed the plastoid wastebasket in time.

When he was finished, the doctor handed him a disposable handkerchief. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “The more anxious you allow yourself to get, the worse you are going to feel. Now go back to your quarters and rest. Make sure you’re taking those pills we gave you yesterday. If you puke them back up with thirty minutes of swallowing them, take them again. Let me know when you’ve only got a week left…”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Mitaka blurted out.

The doctor sighed. “I thought we just went over that …”

“No, what’s going to happen to my commission? Am I going to be kicked out of service?”

“I’ll be briefing your commanding officer shortly. He’ll decide how to handle this. If this had happened before Starkiller exploded, then you might’ve had something to worry about. But a lot of officers died in that debacle, and beggars can’t be choosers. You may return to your quarters now. Eat something, anything, even if you’re not hungry, and go to bed early.”

Mitaka nodded miserably. He slowly walked from the sickbay back to his quarters, feeling sadder and more alone than he’d ever felt in his life before.


	2. Facing the Music

The following morning, the young lieutenant solemnly approached the bridge as if he was walking to his own execution. He arrived early, wanting to savor the last few moments of normalcy until Hux arrived and called him into his office. When the general did arrive, he kept his eyes focused on his workstation, too ashamed to meet the gaze of his commanding officer. To his surprise, the general ignored him, instead taking care of the many tasks that accompanied the start of alpha shift. A few hours passed before he heard the brusque summons.

“Lieutenant Mitaka—in my office, please. I’d like to have a word with you.”

Mitaka rose from his seat as if the very act was painful, desperately hoping that his face didn’t betray his overwhelming fear and shame. The walk to the small command office felt like an eternity.

When he sat down, the general shut the door and took his seat on the other side of the desk.

“I suppose you know why I’ve called you here.” Mitaka nodded. “I had an interesting conversation with medical yesterday regarding your recent illness.” He suddenly slammed his fist down on the metal table, making the lieutenant jump. _“What. Were. You. Thinking?”_

“Sir! I’m … I’m so sorry…”

“Have you lost your mind?! You’re better than this, Mitaka. You’re one of the good ones, and now you’ve compromised yourself physically and mentally in a supremely foolish way. We lost so many of our own after Starkiller, and I need the men I have left to be in peak condition. From what your doctor told me, there’s little chance of that happening. And then in eight months’ time, you’ll have to go on medical leave for at least two months, probably more. I need you here, Mitaka! This is the worst time for something like this to happen.”

“Sir, I realize how foolish my actions were now. I should never have been so careless. I promise to work extra hard, and ….”

“Oh, no you don’t,” snapped the general. “Don’t you dare make yourself sick. Let me tell you what you are going to do. You are going to follow your doctor’s instructions to the letter. You are going to work your normal shifts but you are to refrain from high-risk away missions. In your spare time, you are going to rest as much as possible and not make this situation worse. And you are getting a write-up. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get back to your workstation. We’ve already wasted enough time as it is.”

Mitaka was almost out the door when he turned back. “Sir?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“Thank you for not punishing me too harshly. I truly am sorry. Thank you for allowing me to keep my commission.”

Hux snorted. “Don’t be melodramatic. We’re not going to kick you out of service for this—but I wouldn’t recommend screwing up again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Besides, I haven’t been quite as merciful as you think. You are going to get huge, Mitaka. You are going to look ridiculous and feel horrible. And every one of your comrades will know what you have done, just from looking at you. People will whisper behind your back and perhaps laugh in your presence. You’ll be known as the stupid lieutenant who bent over and allowed an alien being to put his child inside you. If you were dismissed, or put on probation, then you would have avoided that. But I need you here, and you are going to have to deal with what you’ve done. Now, get back to work.”

Mitaka nodded and quickly exited the office. He walked back to his workstation with as much nonchalant dignity as he could muster, fully knowing that everyone on the bridge heard Hux shouting at him. Chief Petty Officer Unamo was currently occupying the workstation next to his. 

“Well?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Mitaka grew flushed and irritable. “None of your business,” he murmured. Unamo was below him in rank, but he’d allowed her to be friendly with him. He regretted that now.

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine.” Luckily, no one else spoke to him of the incident, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully.

\----------

The weeks passed. Mitaka visited his doctor every two weeks, always receiving good reports. However, he continued to struggle through his symptoms. Most mornings (and some evenings), he suffered some degree of nausea. Luckily, the rigorous vitamin regimen seemed to help, and he had the anti-emetic pills if things started to get out of hand. He only had to leave the bridge abruptly twice to visit the refresher, and as the first trimester came to a close, the nausea gradually began to dissipate. But that wasn’t all of it. He was frequently racked with cramps and pains that seemed to vibrate through his abdomen and collect in his back. Soaking in a hot bath helped a little—luckily, as a high-ranking officer, he had a nicer refresher than most with a real hydro unit in his quarters. Most nights he slept with a heating pad pressed up against his tender belly. But what was perhaps most frustrating was the crippling fatigue. He slept at least ten hours every night and yet still struggled to make it through the day. He did very little but eat, sleep, work, and sleep more. On his off-duty days, he rarely left his quarters.

After three and a half months, his belt no longer fit, and his uniform jacket and pants were growing uncomfortably tight, necessitating a visit to the quarter master. Mitaka knew that soon he’d be back for a new uniform, which would probably have to be custom made. He worried incessantly about the time when his condition would become truly visible—the pain and discomfort alone were things he could handle, but the humiliation of everyone seeing him expand to ridiculous proportions was hard to think about.

Nevertheless, he performed his duties adequately. No one commented on his slowly expanding waistline or seemed to notice any difference. No one except Unamo. When he returned to his quarters one evening, he found her waiting in the hall, arms crossed and one foot resting against the bulkhead. He nodded stiffly. “Officer,” he greeted, moving past her to enter his quarters—his feet were swollen, his back was killing him, and he couldn’t wait to lie down and nap.

“Cut the formalities, Dopheld,” she said. “Let me inside. I want to talk to you.”

Mitaka frowned. “No. I’m not feeling up to entertaining anyone.”

“Then let’s go to the officer’s club on C deck…”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t … I mean, I don’t feel like it.”

“We both know you could use a stiff drink. Dopheld, you look like absolute shit. What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, feeling more and more irritable by the moment. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Good night.”

He quickly punched in his access code and meant to slip in past his intrusive coworker, but she managed to push her way into his rooms. The automatic door closed behind them with a gentle whoosh.

“Unamo!” he shouted. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t just barge in like that!” His face was red and he was breathing heavily.

But Unamo didn’t leave. Instead, she sat down on the edge of his neatly-made bed and crossed her legs. “I am not leaving until you tell me what is going on. We’re friends, Dopheld, or so I thought. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. All you do off-duty is hide in your room, and I know you’ve been visiting the sickbay a lot. You’re obviously not well. Why can’t you just tell me what it is?”

Mitaka crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall, still angry. He was silent for several moments before responding. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not? Is it something very serious?”

“Yes.”

“Is it terminal?”

“No, not really.”

“What do you mean by ‘not really’? Is it terminal or isn’t it?”

“It’s not terminal. It’s just … it’s just a really odd situation, and it’s my fault it happened, but at the same time I’m not totally responsible for it. I was victimized, but I still have to deal with the consequences.” With this admission, he came over to the bed and sat next to her.

“Dopheld, what the hell are you talking about? Please just tell me.”

And then she put a hand on his back. Unamo was far from a warm person, but she was fiercely loyal to her small group of friends. When Mitaka felt that gentle touch on his back, that small gesture that meant so much in their blood-soaked, cutthroat world, he simply lost it. The fragile façade of normalcy fell away, and he put his head in his hands and started sobbing.

“Unamo, I’m … I’m pregnant!”

She let her hand drop to the bed, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. _“What?”_

Mitaka continued to sob, holding his hands over his eyes in shame. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I … I did something really stupid. I spent the night with someone I met on leave, and I thought he was human because he looked exactly like one—but he wasn’t. He was from a planet called Xoverea Prime and on that planet, men carry children. The doctors say they can’t remove it without killing me too, so I’m just going to have to have the baby.”

The intensity of his weeping disturbed Unamo. She’d never seen him this emotional. While his face looked peculiarly sweet and unguarded for a First Order officer, she’d never seen him succumb to any unbecoming displays. This was new to her, seeing her friend like this.

“I’ve been so sick,” he continued. It felt so good to talk, to finally share this burden with someone else. “I hurt all over, and I can’t stop throwing up. My feet are so swollen I don’t even think I can pull my boots off, and I’m so tired all the time. I’m starting to gain weight really fast, and soon everyone will see.”

Unamo was at a loss for words. Finally she asked. “What did Hux say? He knows, right?”

“Of course he knows. The doctors called him as soon as they talked to me. He was furious. That’s what happened that one day a couple of months ago when he called me into his office and yelled at me. He was mad that I’d been so stupid, that I’d put myself in such a vulnerable position that ended up compromising my abilities to serve. I got off easy though—just a write-up. He said that he needed me and he couldn’t afford to get rid of me.”

“What are you going to do?”

Mitaka wiped his wet face with his uniform sleeve. “I’m supposed to go on medical leave in five months—I don’t know when I’m going to get to come back. The doctor says that depends on how much damage the baby does during delivery and how long it takes me to recover.”

“But what you are going to do with the baby?”

Mitaka turned to her, shocked. “I’m giving it up for adoption, of course. I’m not keeping that thing. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a cancer that can’t be cut out of me just yet.”

He sighed, leaning down against the bed. “I wish there was a way of getting rid of it now.” He finally grew silent, resting his hands on his swollen middle. His eyelids began to flutter as he succumbed to exhaustion.

“Dopheld,” Unamo finally said. “I’m really, really sorry this happened. I can tell you’re tired, so I’ll just see myself out.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

“Unamo?” came a sleepy voice as she opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“Sure, Dopheld. Now get some rest.”

As Mitaka drifted off to sleep, he allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. At least he had one friend in this Force-forsaken place.


	3. The Sting of Reality

At seven months, Mitaka’s condition was long past the point where he could hope to hide it from prying eyes. The well-tailored uniform, so elegant and imposing on a slim body, did little to hide his swelling form. The inevitable stares and whispers started surprisingly late in the game, and Mitaka wondered if his fellow officers had just assumed he’d gotten fat. But no one gains so much weight around the middle and nowhere else in those circumstances. Naturally, as one of his few friends, Unamo found herself hit with a barrage of questions regarding the lieutenant’s odd transformation. “He’s obviously pregnant, you morons,” he overheard her spit to an ensign on day. Word spread fast, and after some incredulous stares and awkward attempts at prying conversations, the shock died down.

Mitaka found himself relieved when word got out. The ridicule came, as he knew it would, and yet it wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined. A few officers stopped speaking to him. Others avoided his gaze or stared rudely. One day, he approached his workstation to find a little note taped to the monitor: “whore,” it read. And yet, most his colleagues were sympathetic—no one really knew what had happened, but most people could tell that he had been suffering. Occasionally, a curious officer attempted to pry how exactly it had happened out of him, but he refused to answer any such rude questions. “That’s my business,” was his standard retort to a lower-ranking officer, and “I’d rather not discuss it, sir,” sufficed in the upper echelons. Gradually, his health and professional life seemed to return to normal.

He hadn’t been on any missions since he found out about the pregnancy, so he was surprised when his name came up on the roster as the commanding officer for the latest recruitment run. The First Order depended on orphans and impoverished children to fill their ever-growing Stormtrooper ranks, and all of the high-ranking officers took turns supervising these missions. They were generally low-risk—surprisingly few of the parents put up a fight. In most instances, they couldn’t support the children anyway. Some parents were all too happy to hand over brats for a pound or two of spice. Orphanages were great resources—they were always overflowing with unwanted children who would likely die from disease or malnutrition before reaching adulthood anyway. It was the first time that Mitaka had been assigned to lead one of these missions, so Hux called him into his office beforehand for a briefing.

“Now, Lieutenant, I realize that this mission may prove difficult for you in your condition.”

“Sir, I’m more than capable of doing my part. My leave doesn’t even start for over a month. I intend to work up until the end…”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m sure that you’re capable of handling the physical requirements of this job. You won’t even have any direct contact with the inhabitants. You’ll be commanding the Stormtroopers, supervising the operation, and reporting final numbers, including how many children are acquired, sexes, health data, and other statistics. What concerns me is the state of your emotional well-being; I need to know whether or not your condition presents a conflict of interest in this situation.”

Mitaka blinked, suddenly comprehending. “Sir, I am fully committed to the vision of the First Order. I have no maternal attachment to this … thing growing inside of me. I’m confident that I’m emotionally fit to handle this job. I have no problem taking children from unsafe living conditions.”

“Very well, then. You and your attachment will ship out in the morning at 0700. Your target number is 50, but feel free to acquire as many children as possible. Try to keep to the 80/20 male/female ratio, but you can dip down to 60/40 if it will increase your numbers. Try to stay out of the spice ghettos if you can—most of those children will just die anyway, and we can’t afford to waste resources on lost causes. I expect the operation to be complete within four days—please report in to me every morning at 0900. That is all.”

Mitaka shipped out the following morning in a small recruitment freighter with four squadrons of stormtroopers and ten medics. The planet in question was a small, dusty colony world—the fledgling “democracy” was ruled by the local mafia and various drug lords, who were more than happy to tolerate the First Order’s presence for a modest political donation.

Mitaka steeled himself for the experience. He knew he couldn’t let his hormones get the better of him. He imagined poor mothers screaming as their children were torn from their hands while he watched on impassively. _It’s not a perfect system,_ he mused. _But it works._ He prepared a short speech for his attachment, impressing the seriousness of their task, and how they could not allow sentiment to stand in the way of progress. Most of the Stormtroopers and medics had participated in these missions before, so he didn’t expect there to be much trouble.

After his talk, one of the medics approached him.

“Sir, if I may speak freely?”

Mitaka was wary but allowed it. He wasn’t afraid to hear the opinions of a more experienced colleague.

“We … um … appreciate your words of encouragement, but we are not anticipating any trouble with this particular planet. The last few times we visited here, there was literally a line of natives waiting to sell us their children. It’s not hard to take them from parents who won’t care for them. One time, we didn’t even need to leave the orphanage. We were actually offered more children than we could safely commute.”

Mitaka was at a loss for words. He felt a bit shocked—surely this was an exaggeration. Why would so many parents willingly surrender their children? “I don’t understand. How is it that there are so many unwanted children? We don’t pay more than 100 credits each … that’s a paltry sum.”

“Well, there are religious objections to birth control on this planet, and with the high levels of poverty and the problems with unregulated prostitution in the urban areas … well, that’s the perfect recipe for overpopulation.”

They finished the mission in three days, bringing back 68 healthy infants to the assigned training facility. Mitaka felt anxious and suspicious. He had expected some problems, despite the senior medic’s opinions. He was prepared for everything from grief-crazed parents to armed rebels. What he did not expect was total cooperation. They had literally encountered no resistance whatsoever. It was like adopting unwanted pups from irresponsible pet-owners who'd failed to sterilize their animals. Most of the children were collected from a local orphanage and the rest were _donated._ They didn’t even have to pay for them. When he thought about how easy it was to just take all of these babies, Mitaka felt sick. What kind of a person cares so little for her own child that she just gives it away, as if offering a stranger a cup of caf?

 _A person like me,_ Mitaka realized in horror. He placed his hands on his large belly. _This is my child, he thought to himself. It may not share my DNA, but he still depends on me, and I was just going to … discard him._ He walked towards the nursery wing of the freighter and stared at the rows of sleeping bundles. They were so small, and these were all at least a few months old. How tiny would his own child be when he was born? He thought now of the anger and disgust he felt towards his child and he was ashamed. All of these infants were destined to be Stormtroopers—not the most auspicious start in life, but considerably better than the spice-addled, diseased existence they would likely suffer on their homeworld. At least they would survive into adulthood with the Order.

He returned to his private cabin and wept bitterly. All those little faces, handed over without tears or struggles, as if it was a relief to be rid of such a precious burden. And yet he knew why. He saw the slums and ghettoes—he saw the overflowing orphanage, the streets filled with skinny, dirty children playing with garbage. If he truly knew that he couldn’t care for his own child, or if he was too high on spice to care, wouldn’t he be anxious to give it up too? Wouldn’t he feel relieved?

He wiped his eyes and placed his hands on his belly, rubbing comforting circles. The child shifted, as if responding to his touch. “Can you hear me, little one?” he spoke softly. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll never have to live like that.”

When he lay down in his bunk that night, he knew what he had to do. It was a foolish move, it was bad for his career, and he was taking a gigantic gamble based on sentiment alone, but he knew that he could never, ever give up this child now.

\----------

When he returned to Finalizer, he informed his doctor and General Hux of his decision. His commanding officer tried to talk him out of it, bringing up the fact that he would not be able to keep his child on the warship and that he would only be able to see him sporadically on leave. But Mitaka’s mind was firmly set. 

The next step was to call his father. Mitaka had little family—his older brother, also an officer, had been killed while Dopheld was still a child. His parents had divorced shortly afterwards, leaving just him and his father. His father, a retired colonel, was an old imperial at heart and very proud of his son. He’d been alarmed but sympathetic when Mitaka had informed him of his unexpected pregnancy. Hopefully, the older man’s affection for his only remaining son would extend to that of his unborn progeny.

It did not.

“Let me get this straight,” his father spat over the holocom. “You studied harder than anyone I have ever known to graduate at the top of your class; you worked your way to lieutenant; now you have a high-ranking post on the flagship of the First Order. And you want to throw this away for the non-human bastard you were so unfairly infected with? Have you lost your mind? Dopheld … listen to reason, please. It’s got to be hormones. You’re not thinking straight. You don’t know what you want. When your mother was pregnant, she said some crazy things, too.”

“I’m not … it’s not crazy,” Mitaka responded weakly. “And I’m not throwing everything away … I’m not resigning my commission ….”

“Oh, really? And who’s going to take care of the brat? Me? I don’t think so. And don’t think you can just blow your savings on a nanny droid and dump them off in my home. Can you afford permanent childcare? Because that’s what it’s going to take. And you do realize that you won’t be able to even see this child on a regular basis. You are a soldier, son. You are fighting a war. That is important work. If you really, truly want to start a family, there will be time for that later. I can find you a nice girl, or even a young man, and you can settle down once …”

“I don’t want to get married,” Mitaka snapped. “I don’t want _a_ child, I want _this_ child!”

“Dammit, son,” his father hissed. “Listen to you. You sound like a child yourself. Trust me. You don’t know what you’re saying. Now, I am going to end this conversation before either of us says something we’ll come to regret. You go and have a nice little cry, and when you’ve come to your senses, give me a call.”

He ended the transmission abruptly.

Mitaka felt tears of anger welling up in his eyes. He was 34 years old—when was his father going to stop treating him like a child? Didn’t he have the right to make his own choices? He was furious, exhausted, and so disappointed. And yet what did he expect? His father, a staunch imperial, welcoming a non-human bastard child? The very thought of it was absurd. Mitaka lay his head down on his desk, feeling utterly discouraged. Just when he had things figured out, just when he’d finally worked through the quagmire of his feelings, this obstacle presented itself. As much as he hated to admit it, his father was right. It was a terribly stupid idea. He wouldn’t be able to see his baby for weeks on end. The child would probably cry when he saw him for lack of recognition. And how would the child feel when he got older? With an absent father, no mother, and no grandparents, surely he would feel abandoned. He’d think of himself as an inconvenience—an embarrassment to an otherwise successful First Order officer. _That is, if I even survive to watch him grow up,_ Mitaka thought grimly.

He lay down on his bed and wept.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

__________

The next few weeks passed in a blur. He performed his duties in a mechanical way—he no longer felt anxious about his situation. Instead, he felt depressed. There just didn’t seem to be a solution. He didn’t want to give up his child, but it looked like he had no choice. As the days passed, time seemed to speed up. He didn’t think he could possibly grow any larger, and yet he did. It was now difficult for him to sit at his workstation, and he couldn’t even rise from his seat without help. The shame and embarrassment, which had never really gone away, seemed to return in waves. When it was finally time to board the shuttle for his medical leave, he felt relieved. The smirks and stares of his fellow officers had long since turned to looks of pity, and that was somehow worse than their contempt.

He’d be staying with his father during his convalescence. There was a large birthing hospital less than a hundred clicks from their family home, and Mitaka had already arranged to deliver there when the time came. His doctor warned him that it could be any day now, that babies rarely arrived on schedule and that he was taking a big risk by working so close to his due date. He didn’t like it either, but he knew he would need most of his leave to recover, and he didn’t want to waste any time in case his pregnancy lasted longer than usual.

He stared absentmindedly out the window. The view was deceptively serene—a black, velvety sky punctuated by tiny pinpricks of bright, white light. The comforting shadow of the star destroyer loomed overhead. He saw a small point of light in the far distance, rapidly approaching. A ship. The small ship was joined by two more, and soon it was a formation. A battle formation. And Mitaka realized in horror that he was witnessing a cloud of rebel x-wings approaching from behind the planet’s small moon.

He felt the explosion before he heard it. It came from the direction of the cockpit. He heard shouts, a scream, the sound of breaking glass. He felt the heat of fire while the shuttle shook and began to spin off course.

 _No,_ he thought. _No, this can’t be happening. Not now, not when I’m so close._

He rushed to the cockpit to find the pilot dead, slumped over the control panel. The nauseating scent of burning flesh assaulted his senses, and he leaned over and vomited onto the durasteel floor. The dead, gloved hand was still tightly wrapped around the controls, pitching the damaged shuttle straight towards the planet below. _No one’s flying the shuttle,_ his brain screamed at him. _We’re crashing._ Despite his sickness, despite the ringing in his ears and the terrible cramps that snaked their way through his body, Mitaka pushed the corpse out of the chair and assumed control. An eerie sense of purpose possessed him. There weren’t many others on the shuttle, and they all seemed to be injured or dead. In a primal act of rage, he locked the shuttle’s cannons on the nearest x-wing and fired. Instant hit. The ship exploded in a blaze of orange light. _That was for our pilot, you rebel bastard,_ Mitaka thought. He looked through the viewport and saw several more x-wings. The Finalizer had taken out most, but some of the ships were trying to enter through the hangar. A bold and stupid move. A local cell of rebel activity must have gotten word of the flagship's flight plan. They actually thought they could ambush the ship and slip in before the hangar closed? Not if he had anything to do with it. He lunged towards the fleet and fired again. Two x-wings were disabled in mid-flight—they twirled through space before crashing spectacularly. He watched joyfully as the Finalizer picked off the remaining x-wings, now fully alerted to the surprise attack. Mitaka turned his focus towards landing the crippled and smoking vehicle. He was no great pilot, but a rush of adrenaline took hold of him. The shuttle was buffeted around in the upper atmosphere, but he managed to land the smoking craft on the landing pad.

When the shuttle landed, he all but fell out. He pressed the button to summon an emergency crew, but it would at least several minutes before they arrived. A panicked worker ran out to meet him. “Sir, we’ve got to get you to a hospital. You’re injured, sir.”

“I’m fine,” Mitaka gasped, his breath coming fast and ragged. “There are injured men and dead bodies on the shuttle.”

“Yes, but sir … you’re bleeding!” Mitaka looked down and saw the dark stain spreading down his leg. _No,_ he thought. _No, this isn’t possible._ He suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. _The baby,_ he thought, mind racing. _I’m losing him. I’m losing the baby. I’ve come this far and now I’m going to lose him._

The world around him blurred and slowed down. He heard shouts and the pounding feet of people running. He felt his body go slack and then everything around him faded into darkness.


	4. A Slice of Bliss

He came to slowly, consciousness returning to him in distinct stages. He first became aware of a gentle hum; a soft, regular beeping; the regular sound of rain hitting a window. There was the smell of antiseptic mingling with winter lilies. He finally opened his eyes and saw that the lights were dimmed, that he was lying in a bed in the hospital, and that the crumpled figure of his father was sleeping uneasily in the chair next to him. His belly was still large … he hadn’t delivered yet. He suddenly remembered the attack on his shuttle, the firefight. He remembered miscarrying. He tried to sit up, but moaned as a wave of pain shot through his abdomen.

His father jerked awake and instantly grabbed his hand.

“Oh God, Dopheld,” he said, squeezing his palm. “Don’t move, don’t try to sit up. I’m so happy, I’m so glad you’re awake … I’ve got to tell the nurse. She said to let her know if there was any change.” And then he rushed out in the hall. Mitaka’s head ached. _My baby,_ he thought. _Is my baby all right?_ He tried to call out, but his throat was dry and scratchy.

His father quickly returned with a nurse, who instantly checked his pulse and shined a light into his eyes. “The baby,” he croaked, miserably. “Please, tell me.”

“Lieutenant, your baby is fine,” the nurse assured. “Please try not to talk. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’ve been in a coma for over twelve hours.”

 _The baby is fine,_ Mitaka thought. _Everything’s going to be all right. It’s OK._ He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“No, don’t fall back asleep. Stay with me.” She moved the bed into a sitting position. He felt the sharp sting of a hypodermic. “Colonal Mitaka, I’ll be right back—I need to fetch the doctor.”

When she left, Mitaka’s father grabbed his son’s hands and broke into a sob. “Dopheld, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was going to lose you. And the last time we spoke, I was so angry and cruel.” Mitaka felt himself becoming more alert … what was in that needle? A stimulant?

“Dad,” he said, clutching his father’s hands. “It’s OK. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“I remember a little bit. Most of it’s a blur.”

“Well, from what the first responders tell me, your shuttle was hit a few minutes after leaving the star destroyer. There was an explosion that killed the pilot, and you just … sort of took over and landed. Not only that, but you fought off three rebel x-wings and probably saved your ship from being boarded. At some point during the firefight or the landing, you were jerked around quite a bit, and part of the placenta tore away from the uterine wall. That’s what caused the bleeding. You fell on the tarmac and knocked yourself out, bruising the brain. You’ve been in a coma for twelve hours. The doctors said there was only a 50/50 chance that you were going to wake up…”

Mitaka was only halfway listening. _The baby’s fine,_ he kept repeating to himself. Somehow, that was all that mattered to him. He was proud that he had helped do his part to stave off the attack, he was glad that he had managed to safely land the shuttle, saving all those injured on board, but somehow those things weren’t very important to him. He put his hands on his belly and felt the gentle kicks of the baby. _I’m sorry, little guy,_ he thought. _It was touch and go there for a while, wasn’t it? I’m so glad that you are safe and sound._

“Son, are you listening to me? Your eyes went all unfocused.”

“Sorry, Dad. I was just distracted. I was thinking about the baby. I can’t even express how relieved I am that he’s OK. I think it would have killed me, if I’d let something happen to him.”

The Colonal’s eyes seemed to tear up a bit. “I … I think I know how you feel. Listen, Dopheld. This business about the baby. I think that, perhaps, I may have been a little hard on you. Almost losing you, it sort of put things in perspective for me. I mean … you’re all the family I have now. If it’s really that important to you, then, I’ll help you. Your son … my grandson … is welcome in our home anytime.”

Mitaka broke out into a wide smile. “You don’t know how happy it makes me feel to hear you say that. Thank you.”

When the doctor arrived, he checked Mitaka over and gave him a good prognosis. If he continued to improve, he could leave the intensive care unit in two days and then be home by the end of the week.

He would return soon, for a much happier reason.

__________

He went into labor two days after his due date. He’d been having cramps and pains for days now—but when he hoisted himself up from the dinner table one night and felt the seat of his pants grow wet, he knew what was happening. His father helped him quickly change clothes and grab the overnight bag they’d prepared to take along to the hospital. Things escalated quickly once he was checked into a room at the birthing hospital. The pains were incredible—each time a contraction hit, his entire abdomen clenched and hardened into a rock of flesh. His back was on fire, and his hips felt like they were splitting apart. Within a few hours, he was dilated enough to begin pushing. He recalled crying and moaning, he remembered grunting like an animal, and yet he didn’t care how he sounded. He was covered in sweat and panting—all he could think about was getting this thing out of him. The baby was large—he was probably going to tear, the 2-1B unit remarked. Seven excruciating hours later, the head emerged. A few more pushes, and the body slid out.

Mitaka heard his baby cry, and never before had he thought that the sound of a wailing infant could be beautiful.

He was vaguely aware of delivering the placenta. He could see the nurses cutting the cord and rinsing the bloody membrane away. They wrapped his baby in a soft yellow blanket and slid a little cap over his head. Mitaka leaned forward, enthusiastically reaching for the little bundle.

“Sir, I am attempting to sew you back together,” commented a very annoyed medical droid. “It is imperative that you remain still.”

Someone, Mitaka didn’t remember who, finally placed the little boy into his arms. He fell in love so hard and so fast that it nearly frightened him. The child was still red and wrinkled. His eyes were large and blue, and he already had a full head of wispy brown hair. He was indistinguishable from a human child. Mitaka put one finger against an impossibly soft cheek, and a tiny hand with the smallest fingernails imaginable reached out.

The baby jerked and looked up at him. It was a surreal feeling: the thought that his body had made this. This amazing little creature had grown inside of him, the result of an accident. A year ago, his life was so different. He hadn’t thought much about family life or children. He certainly didn’t expect to be holding his son in his arms. He had only thought about himself—and now, there was this. An entirely new dimension to his life. At the same time, he felt frightened. _If I do nothing else for the rest of my life,_ he thought, _I have to protect this tiny person._ He felt weak in the knees and yet, strangely empowered at the same time.

“Hello there, love,” he whispered. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. I’m your Dad. I’m going to take care of you. Me and my own Dad, that’s your grandfather. We’re going to be our own little family.”

The newborn squirmed and wrinkled his face, as if in discomfort. Mitaka was suddenly struck with a terrible fear. _Will this creature love me?_ Mitaka thought. _Will he accept me as his father? Does he somehow instinctively know that I am not his biological parent?_ The baby squeezed his eyes shut and started wailing again.

Mitaka was thrown into a panic. “What’s wrong with him? What did I do?”

The nurse laughed. “He’s just tired and hungry. He’s been through a lot, too, you know.” She handed him a small round bottle filled with warm formula. “Here, hold it upright, like this—it needs to be at an angle. You don’t want to give the little guy any excess gas. That’ll hurt his tummy… just like that. Support the head, now.”

Mitaka held the small bottle to the tiny pink mouth, which latched on immediately to the plastic nipple. He drank greedily for a minute, hiccuped, and then leaned back into his father’s arms. Mitaka gently rocked him, wiping away a smear of milk from the velvety cheek.

“You and I,” he whispered, “Are going to be such good friends.”

He bent down and kissed the tiny forehead. As if in approval, the newborn yawned and snuggled closer to his father.


End file.
